


The Sabrewing Family

by Mighty_Ant



Category: Count Duckula, DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Adopted Children, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Adoption, Duckula Dads AU, Episode: s01e23 The Shadow War!, Established Relationship, M/M, Married Life, Sabrewing Dads AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:22:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23208457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mighty_Ant/pseuds/Mighty_Ant
Summary: Landmark moments in parenthood for a vampire and a former-vampire hunter.
Relationships: Count Duckula (Count Duckula) & Lena (Disney: DuckTales), Count Duckula/Dr. Von Goosewing, Lena (Disney: DuckTales) & Violet Sabrewing
Comments: 8
Kudos: 102





	The Sabrewing Family

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out so long that I decided to split it into 2 chapters!

Violet is only two weeks old when the social worker places her in Duckula’s arms.

For a moment that stretches into eternity, he goes utterly still.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen a baby before. In his travels, back when the castle was both home and mode of transportation (and prison), he saw them from afar, squishy, strange creatures to someone who was reincarnated as an adult. Since then he’s spent time with their friends’ children during holidays and get-togethers, played hide and seek and babysat them. And he certainly knows how to hold one; if he’s learned anything from six months of parenting classes it’s how to hold a baby correctly. 

But nothing could have prepared him for how small their daughter would be, how fragile her body would feel bundled in a little blue onesie. Her eyes are small and dark, blinking up at them curiously from a pale purple face. He draws her just a little bit closer to his chest and the movement tugs on her tiny blue hat to reveal a tuft of curly black hair. 

Otto is clutching at his arm, tight enough to leave bruises, but Duckula doesn’t say a word. He presses himself flush against Duckula’s side, reaching out toward their daughter with a shaking hand. He murmurs in quiet, halting German as his hand hovers over Violet. 

“ _Oh, schatz..._ _Hallo. Hallo, schatz. Wie geht's dir?_ _Mein engel,_ she’s beautiful,” he breathes. 

Duckula sniffs, blinking back tears as he snickers. “Sweetheart, you know you can touch her, right?” he whispers. 

“O-of course I know that,” Otto replies, barely even attempting to bluster. He strokes her cheek with the back of one knuckle and Violet blinks, staring up at them intently. “She is so small,” he says. 

Their social worker, one Cameron Birdwell who’s been with them every step of the way since they first entered her adoption agency two years ago, and who they’ve all but forgotten is in the room with them, speaks up. “Yes, that’s common with premature hatchings. I wouldn’t worry, though. The hospital cleared her and I have some pamphlets in case you had any more questions.”

“Yes, I will take them, thank you,” Otto replies. He holds out a hand without looking away from Violet. 

Duckula offers Birdwell an apologetic smile, and he’s relieved when she doesn’t seem offended. She’s certainly had enough time to grow accustomed to Otto’s sometimes blunt and oblivious manner. 

She hands over the pamphlets with an amused expression, and Otto immediately pockets them without so much as a glance. With him so distracted, Duckula knows that he’ll be the one driving home while Otto probably alternates between staring at Violet and reading the pamphlets ten times over. 

The reality of it all slams into Duckula then. Violet’s slight weight in his arms is grounding as an anchor, his heartbeat hinging on the minute movements of her body as she breathes. They’ve waited so long for her and now that she’s here, Duckula is overwhelmed. 

“ _Liebling,”_ Otto exclaims when Duckula’s breath starts to hitch, and tears trickle down his cheeks, one after the other despite his best attempts to keep them at bay. 

“I’m fine!” he says, smiling as he continues to sob. “I’m just—I’m just _happy_ . We can finally bring her home—” Duckula clutches Violet just the slightest bit tighter, jerking his gaze back up to Birdwell. “We - we _can_ take her home, right?”

“Yes, you can take Violet home,” Birdwell says kindly. “I’ll be stopping by later this week for my first home visit, but as of now there’s nothing more for you to do other than spend time with your daughter.”

“Our daughter,” Duckula says, and it leaves him breathless. 

Otto releases his death grip on Duckula’s arm to wrap both Duckula and Violet in his embrace. He kisses Duckula’s temple, and Otto’s cheeks are wet from his own silent tears. 

“Our daughter,” he repeats. 

  
  
  
  


Violet is four months old when they transition her from the bassinet at their bedside to a crib in her own room. 

To say it’s nerve wracking would be an understatement. 

“But what if she suffocates?” Duckula hisses as he and Otto take careful steps out of Violet’s pale green nursery. “Or she falls out?”

“Dear, Violet cannot even stand yet,” Otto says, guiding Duckula into their bedroom with an arm around his waist. “She has been showing all the signs of being ready for a crib. This is the right thing to do.” 

Duckula slumps onto their bed. “I know,” he mumbles as Otto takes a seat beside him. “But I’m going to miss her.”

Otto chuckles, sweeping a hand through Duckula’s hair. “She’s just in the next room, not going away to college.”

“Ugh, don’t even say that!” Duckula exclaims, dismayed, as he turns and hides his face against Otto’s hip. Otto doesn’t stop playing with his hair, longer now than he ever let it grow when he was still Count. 

“We have the baby monitor,” Otto says, his voice gentling. He knows when Duckula’s being dramatic for the sake of being dramatic, and when it’s masking poorly concealed pain. “We will know the moment something is wrong, _ja?”_

Duckula sighs. “Yeah,” he says. 

But words are paltry assurances when Duckula’s anxiety wakes him at three in the morning and refuses to let him go back to sleep. The silence of their bedroom is deafening, and his normally slow heartbeat thuds between his ears as he considers every possible and improbable threat to Violet’s safety.

Deciding to surrender to the inevitable, he quietly slips out of bed to avoid waking Otto. Violet’s nursery is just down the hall from their own room, and he creeps along the hardwood floor, avoiding the creaky spots. 

When Duckula reaches the door to the nursery he finds it already open a crack. Thinking nothing of it, he pushes it open the rest of the way and steps inside. He doesn’t expect to immediately trip over something big and warm lying just on the other side of the doorway. It grunts when he falls on top of it. 

“What the— _Otto?”_ Duckula whispers as loudly as he dares, pushing himself back up. 

His husband blinks up at him from the floor, his feathers smushed on one side of his face from the pillow beside him. “Oh, _hallo,_ darling,” Otto replies, voice rough with sleep. 

“Otto, what’re you _doing_ in here?” Duckula tugs him up so they’re sitting facing one another properly. He keeps their hands entwined between them as Otto avoids his gaze. 

“Ah, yes, well,” Otto stammers. “I thought I heard a-a strange sound from Violet’s room and I did not want to worry you, so I came to, er, check it out.” 

“And decided to take a nap on the floor,” Duckula replies with a dubious smile and raised brow. The pale moonlight, coupled with his night vision, allows him to see Otto’s embarrassed flush in perfect clarity. 

“No, not-not exactly,” Otto starts to say. He cuts himself off when Duckula presses their joined hands against his chest. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, laughing, “what do you think I’m doing up this late? Admiring our new wallpaper? I came to check on Violet, too.”

Otto ducks his head. “I...yes. Yes, of course.”

“But what I don’t understand is why you’d try to hide it from me,” Duckula continues as though Otto hadn’t spoken. He squeezes Otto’s hands and tries to catch his gaze. 

“I...I did not want you worrying about me on top of everything else,” Otto says slowly. “You’re supposed to be able to rely on me but how can you do that when I am behaving so unreasonably, sleeping on the floor of our daughter’s nursery to make sure she doesn’t stop breathing in her sleep.”

Duckula raises Otto’s hands to his beak and drops a kiss on his knuckles. “Step one would definitely be buying an armchair or something so you’re not sleeping on the floor anymore,” he replies. “And step two would be waking me up next time you’re this worried.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” Duckula says, hushing him gently. “We’re a team. When I wake up from a nightmare, convinced I’m going to turn into the monster I was made to be, you’re always there to talk me through it. When you get all upset about having tried to kill me for half a decade, I’m there to remind you that I forgave you. We can be strong for each other. 

“And now we have a daughter.” Duckula’s voice drops in reverence and he looks away from Otto only to take in the sight of Violet through the crib slats, her small body rising and falling with every breath. “A daughter who’s more amazing and terrifying than anything we’ve faced put together and she’s going to need both of us, just like we need each other.”

When Duckula turns back to Otto, he’s unsurprised to meet his gaze. “Y-you are right,” Otto says, his smile small and contrite. “Of course you are right. I am sorry for not telling you how worried I was.”

Duckula leans forward to kiss him, brief and sweet. “We’re still getting the hang of this dad thing. Some nights it’ll be me in here and it’ll be your job to cart me off to bed.”

 _“Ja.”_ Otto tugs Duckula close until he’s nestled beneath his chin. “Although,” he says, hesitant, as he briefly tightens his embrace. “Can we wait a few more minutes?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Duckula replies, pressing his ear against Otto’s chest to hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. 

They end up falling asleep by the doorway, only woken by Violet’s cries to be fed a few hours later. 

  
  
  


Violet is four years old when she asks why she doesn’t look like either of them. 

Duckula is in the kitchen trying out a new tofu stir fry recipe he found online and Otto is sitting at the table working on an outline of his next lesson plan. Before they converted the basement into a lab, he used to practice his experiments on the kitchen table until one too many drops of sulfuric acid ate through their placemats and the entire table. 

Violet is sitting beside him, carefully coloring in her Women in Science: 50 Fearless Pioneers Who Changed the World coloring book, oblivious to her fathers’ stillness and wide-eyed stares. 

“Why do you ask, little bird?” Otto asks, setting his lesson plan aside. He meets Duckula’s gaze from across the room as he turns the stove off and approaches the kitchen table. 

Violet shrugs as she colors Alice Ballfeather’s Erlenmeyer flask bright green. “Maddie was talking about how she has the same hair as her mommy and Sebastian’s feathers are like his daddy’s.” She looks up as Duckula takes a seat on her other side, her brow furrowed. “But I don’t have Daddy’s hair _or_ Papa’s feathers.”

“Maybe not,” Duckula says gently, smoothing a curly lock of hair out of Violet’s face. “But you have your own pretty purple feathers and beautiful black hair.”

“But why am I different, Daddy?” she demands, looking so grown up with a serious frown on her face, despite the way her feet hang well over a foot off the floor. 

Duckula looks up to meet Otto’s gaze again. They’ve told Violet, in bits and pieces, her adoption story almost from the first day they brought her home. She was too young to understand the meaning of their words but they’ve practiced over the years and told her every day, through words and actions, how much they love her. 

But this is different. This is important to get right, and not just because all their parenting books said so. 

“We don’t look very alike because we adopted you,” Duckula says. “Remember? You’ve been our daughter since we brought you home when you were just a baby.”

Violet frowns, the same way Otto does when faced with a troublesome equation. “But why do I look different?” she asks again. 

“Well,” Duckula starts to say, unsure where to start. 

Otto, ever his hero, jumps in to help. “Well, for a baby to be born, there usually has to be a man and a woman, yes?”

Violet nods diligently. “With some exceptions,” she says with careful enunciation. 

Duckula shakes his head with an incredulous chuckle as Otto beams. “Yes, exactly, with some exceptions,” he says proudly. “And you know that after some time, the mother either lays an egg or gives birth to a baby.” At Violet’s nod, he continues. “Well, that is how you were born.”

Violet blinks. “But I don’t have a mommy.”

“No,” Duckula agrees. “But you do have a birth mother and a birth father, and you inherited the color of your feathers and hair from them. Does that make sense?”

Violet turns her crayon over in her hands a few times, humming thoughtfully. “I think so,” she replies. She looks back up at Duckula. “Is dinner ready yet?”

Startled, he snorts with laughter. Across from him, Otto hides his grin behind his hand. “It’ll be ready in a little bit. You don’t have any more questions?”

She glances back down and moves on to coloring Ballfeather’s lab coat bright yellow. “If I got my hair and feathers from them, do I have anything from you and Papa?” she asks quietly. 

“Of course you do, honey,” Duckula says at once, gathering Violet in his arms and setting her on his lap. “You’re super smart, for one, just like your Papa. Do you know any other four-year-olds learning Spanish and German at the same time?”

“ _Nein_ ,” Violet replies with a little grin. 

“And you are kind, just like your Daddy,” Otto says, reaching out to stroke Violet’s cheek. “That is being the most important thing.”

“We’re a family,” Duckula says, kissing the crown of Violet’s head. “Of course we have things in common.”

“Okay,” Violet says, smiling much more widely than before as she wraps her arms around Duckula’s torso as much as she’s able. “But _is_ dinner ready yet? I’m really hungry.”

“She knows what she wants, this one,” Otto exclaims, laughing as he gathers them both in his arms. 

Smiling, Duckula hugs Violet close and leans back into Otto’s embrace. Having his husband and daughter with him at this moment, he’s reminded of a time, not even a decade past, when the thought of having a family was nothing but idle fantasy. 

“We love you so much, honey,” Duckula murmurs into Violet’s hair. “And because I love you so much, I’ll finish up dinner right now.” 

  
  
  
  


Violet is seven years old when Duckula’s past catches up with him. 

It’s a dreary Tuesday morning, and Duckula’s working from the couch instead of going into the studio because Violet’s school sent her home with a fever the day before. She’s stuck close to his side, napping and eating bits of food he hopes won’t hurt her stomach. In an effort to keep her mind off being sick, he put a David Attenbird documentary about the Pacific Ocean on the television for her, as she’s been fascinated with marine life recently. 

When the doorbell rings, Duckula thinks nothing of it. 

He gets up to answer it, expecting a package delivery or their nosy neighbor complaining about Otto’s fluorescent roses keeping him up at night. 

“While I’m up, do you want me to make you a snack, kiddo?” Duckula calls back over his shoulder. Before Violet can answer, his front door is ripped off its hinges, startling him so badly he trips backward and lands on his backside. 

“Nanny, I asked you to _knock_ on the door,” a chillingly familiar voice drones from outside, sounding deeply aggrieved. 

“Did ya? Ooh, silly me,” another all too familiar voice warbles. “Pardon me, Mr. Igor.” A gasp, as a hulking figure stoops down on the other side of the gaping doorway, blocking out what little light makes it through the overcast sky. “Why look, Mr. Igor, we’ve found him! My little Duckyboos, safe as houses! Why’s he sitting on the floor, though, I wonder?”

“Do be quiet, Nanny.”

Duckula scrabbles back as a shorter, darker figure slouches through the doorway. “Ah, there you are, M’lord. It seems we’ve finally found you.” Igor doesn’t smile, not exactly, but his withered features lift in the approximation of one/what one might look like on a corpse. 

“How—how—” he stammers nonsensically, panic making his mind go blank. He manages to stand, gripping the corner of an end table to pull himself back onto his feet. 

“How did we find you, M’lord?” Igor says, smugly folding his hands behind his back. “It was no easy task, as I am sure you intended. I mastered the mortals’ ‘inter-nets’ and searched for any record of a Count Duckula in the United States, as I recalled your interests in exploring the New World. When that investigation revealed little, I kidnapped and tortured a very helpful young man who worked for the civil registrar. He informed me that you must have changed your name upon your arrival. 

“‘Lo, I found you at last and under the surname of Sabrewing, no less. A delightfully devious name, if I do say so, sir.” 

Duckula blanches. “You...t-tortured someone to find me?”

“Naturally, M’lord,” Igor replies, “t’was all in the service of the Lord of Castle Duckula. Though I would have tortured him just for the fun of it as well.”

The doorframe begins to creak as Nanny attempts to force her way through. “Hang on, Duckyboos, old Nanny’s comin’!”

Even after so many years, Duckula instinctively runs over to stop her. “No, Nanny, no you’re too big! This isn’t the castle, you can’t just break every door you please—” he falters, hands raised to keep Nanny at bay as he looks over his shoulder at Igor. “How...how did you even get here from Transylvania?”

Igor chuckles. “Why, we arrived in the castle, of course. There is no better way to travel.”

Terror unravels in the center of Duckula’s chest like a rapidly unspooling ball of yarn, tangling around his lungs and heart. He stumbles over to the window, what with Nanny still invading the front door, and feels his breath seize as he beholds that which he’d desperately hoped to never see again. 

No matter how hard he blinks, the sharp black spires of Castle Duckula remain, looming over their house from where it sprouts out of the middle of the street like some aberrant tumor. The handful of his neighbors who are still home are all standing on their lawns with faces aghast, staring up at the massive Transylvanian castle that appeared, unfathomably, in the blink of an eye. There are cars on either side of the castle’s base, though Duckula can only hear their honking. 

“You can’t just…” Duckula says numbly, as he turns back around. “You can’t just transport the castle to the middle of the street.”

Igor narrows his eyes. “Quite, m’lord. I will endeavour to crush a few homes next time.”

“That’s _not_ what I—” Duckula clutches at the sides of his head, as though to force his racing mind into stillness. Having Igor and Nanny in front of him once more is like stepping into a waking nightmare, a nightmare he’s had many times over. But this time it’s real. 

“Well then, if that will be all, m’lord, it’s best we return to Transylvania,” he dimly registers Igor saying. “This game of yours has gone on for long enough, I think. Time for you to resume your rightful place as Lord of Castle Duckula.”

Before he can begin to process Igor’s words, Duckula hears another voice that cuts through the panicked static of his mind. 

“D-daddy? Who are these people?”

Duckula whirls around to see Violet peering at him from around the corner to the living room, her big purple blanket wrapping around her shoulders and pooling around her feet. He rushes over to her at once, carelessly brushing past Igor, and gathers her in his arms. 

“Hey, hey, sweetie,” he murmurs, turning so that she can no longer see the ageless horrors that raised him. “What’re you doing up?” 

He feels her forehead, still too warm to his liking, when she begins to squirm. “I heard a lot of yelling,” Violet says, struggling to turn around. “What’s happening?”

“Some, uh, people I used to know came to visit,” Duckula replies, pressing her head to his shoulder when Igor begins staring at her too intently. “They were _just leaving_.”

“What is that, m’lord?” Igor asks, acting as though he hasn’t heard a word Duckula said, which is so par the course Duckula could laugh (or cry, really). All those lonely years spent wandering decrepit halls with only the two of them for company, he may as well have been speaking to brick walls for all that his words brought about any change. 

“This is my _daughter_ ,” Duckula says. “She’s home sick from school and needs her rest. I think you’d better leave.”

Igor scowls. “Really, sir, this joke of yours grew tiresome half a decade ago. I was humoring you for the sake of your pride, but this is becoming ridiculous. Leave the mortal whelp or drain her, and let us return to Transylvania.”

“You don’t get it,” Duckula bites out, years of anger boiling up to the surface, all the words he never got to say when he fled Castle Duckula in the middle of the night eleven years ago poised on his beak. “I was serious about wanting a real life. This is my _home_ , Igor. Here, in Duckburg. I’m never going back to Transylvania with you.”

There was a time that Duckula would’ve dropped everything and run had Igor and Nanny tracked him down. When Otto was still Goosewing and they hadn’t put down roots, made friends beyond a vague acquaintanceship, and relied on the old airship more often than not, it would’ve been easy. 

But now Otto’s on the brink of qualifying for tenure at the university, and the pilot for Duckula’s talk show was finally picked up. Violet just joined the Junior Woodchucks; she has friends here. A life. They all do. 

“A Duckula’s place is in Transylvania,” Igor says, with the cold dead stare of a man who has resurrected countless murderers. “As one of the few remaining vampires of Clan Duckula after that idiotic hunter burned the whole lot, it is your duty to return to your ancestral home.”

“Read my beak,” Duckula retorts, clutching Violet tight. She shivers in his arms, from fever or from fear, and squeezes him back, strengthening his growing resolve. “If you can’t accept the life I’ve chosen for myself, you need to take Nanny and leave. Leave and never come back.”

“Wot’s that?” Nanny shouts, as Igor’s glare and silence lengthens. “Did you say somethin’, Master Duckuler?”

“No, Nanny,” Igor says slowly, his stare hard and sharp as daggers and he doesn’t look away from Duckula for a moment. “That was me. I said we’re leaving.”

Duckula isn’t able to breathe again until Igor’s gaze slides away from him, moving at a glacial pace. 

“Oh, alright then,” Nanny replies as Igor turns his back on Duckula and leaves the way he came. “I dunno wot all this fuss was about. And Master Duckuler? Is he going to meet us there then?”

“No, Nanny,” Igor says, as their voices fade further away. 

Duckula remains, shaking and tense, in the entryway of their home until Castle Duckula blips out of existence. The moment it vanishes his legs give out and he falls to his knees like a puppet with its strings cut. He could sit on the cold floor for hours just processing what happened, but he has a sick child in his arms so that’s not even close to being an option. 

Violet, confused and dazed with fever, doesn’t protest laying back down on the couch and falls asleep quickly. He somehow has the wherewithal to find his phone, sitting innocuously on the coffee table. Duckula’s hands shake as he calls Otto, and he rests one on Violet’s shoulder for his own piece of mind as the documentary they were watching continues to play. 

“ _Hallo_?” Otto answers almost at once. He’s in the middle of class right now, and he knows Duckula knows that. 

Duckula’s breath shudders. “H-hey, sweetheart. Um...do you think you could come home a little early?”

“Are you alright? Is Violet—”

“We’re-we’re fine,” Duckula says, even as his trembling voice gives him away. 

“I’m leaving right now,” Otto says. Before he hangs up, Duckula hears him turn away from the phone and distantly announce, “My teaching assistant will be explaining the rest—”

It must take Otto less than twenty minutes to get home, but to Duckula it feels as though between one blink and the next Otto is crying out to them from the empty space where their front door used to be. 

“We’re over here, sweetheart,” Duckula says weakly. 

Otto tears into the living room, expression aghast. “What happened?” he demands, gaze darting from Duckula to Violet’s slumbering, bundled form. “The front door looks as if you had to fend off an invading army.”

Duckula takes a deep breath. “Nanny and Igor found me,” he says. 

For a fraction of a second, Otto goes utterly still. Then he bursts into motion, a carefully controlled storm as he sits down beside Duckula and frantically checks him over, running his hands down his arms and cradling his face in his palms. 

_“Mein Gott,”_ he mutters. “Are you hurt? What did they do?” 

“I’m-I’m fine,” Duckula says, reaching up to clasp Otto’s wrists. “Violet’s fine. They, um, they tried to take me back. B-brought the castle and everything,” he remarks with a hoarse laugh. 

“What did you do?” Otto asks quietly. 

Duckula swallows thickly. “I-I said no. I said that Count Duckula isn’t who I am. It-it never was. And I think that for the first time, Igor actually listened to me.”

Otto breathes out in a rush, lowering his hands to wrap them around Duckula’s instead. “I am so proud of you,” he says, “but I am sorry you had to go through that alone.”

“I wasn’t completely alone,” Duckula says quietly, as he looks back at their daughter. “Violet...Violet saw a little of what was going on. Not enough to understand, especially not with her fever, but it made me realize something we haven’t really...really discussed before.”

He turns back to Otto with fear in his eyes. “I’m not ready for Violet to know I’m a vampire. Not..not yet.”

Otto sweeps a gentle hand across his cheek. “It would change nothing. She thinks the world of you.”

Duckula chuckles weakly. “I just want to be one of her dads for a little longer. Not ‘the dad who’s actually a bloodsucking monster.’”

“You are not a monster,” Otto retorts fiercely. 

“Fine then, a monster _wannabe_ ,” Duckula says. “A big fat failure in the monster department.”

“Dear,” Otto says pointedly. 

Duckula huffs. “I just want her to have the life neither of us ever had. A normal life. Can’t I be normal for her for a little bit longer?”

Otto sighs, smoothing a hand through Duckula’s disheveled hair. “Very well,” he says. “We will keep it secret. For as long as we are able.”

  
  
  
  
  


Violet is eleven years old when the Shadow War engulfs Duckburg. 

Duckula’s with Otto at an eclipse viewing party hosted by the university when their shadows come alive beneath them. Duckburg has grown stranger in the past six months than Duckula could have ever imagined, but usually it’s distant and brief, the work of Scrooge McDuck and his inexplicable family. A collapsed beanstalk blocking several main thoroughfares or a giant money shark on Money Bin’s bridge, not everyone’s shadows gaining sentience and substance and attacking their hosts. 

They’re out of practice navigating life-threatening situations, but some instincts just never go away. Otto tackles Duckula out of the way the moment his shadow rises, leaving it to swipe at empty air with a scowl. 

“There are dark magiks at work here,” Otto exclaims as he helps Duckula to his feet. 

“You think!” Duckula replies. 

The rest of the crowd scatters, screaming, as their shadows detach themselves from their persons. Rather than bothering with attacking further, the dozens of living shadows take flight, soaring into the sky and quickly disappearing from view behind the nearest line of buildings. 

“Where are they going?” Duckula says, stunned. 

Beside him, Otto has pulled out his phone. “Dear,” he says quietly, “the same thing has happened all over Duckburg.”

Duckula glances over and sees the news feed Otto has pulled up. It shows a black clad figure rising above the city with a massive, swirling shadow vortex taking shape over their head, and even more shadows flying up to join it. 

In the face of the news reporter’s panic and the most powerful display of magic either of them has seen in a decade, Duckula has only one thought on his mind. 

“Where’s Violet?” 

Otto takes his phone back to dial their daughter. He paces in a neat circle on the grass for approximately thirty seconds before he drops the phone from his ear with wide eyes and a shake of the head. “No answer. She mentioned wanting to get away from the crowds to get some reading done, but would let us know which reading spot she chose.”

“She has five different reading spots,” Duckula frets, raising a fist to his beak. “I'll check them all faster if I teleport. Sweetheart, can you wait at home in case she heads back there?”

“Of course,” Otto says at once. “But...are you certain? You haven’t teleported that much or that far for...for some time.”

Duckula nods. For Violet, he’d teleport to the moon if he had to. 

“We’ll see you at home,” Duckula says, kissing Otto briefly. 

“Be safe,” he replies. 

Duckula folds his arms over his chest and summons a thundercloud over his head. In a blink and a crash of thunder, he’s standing in Otto’s office at the university, with the squishy armchair that Violet loves. He only stumbles a bit when he arrives, but that hardly matters; a quick glance reveals he’s the only one in the room. 

Fear already settling leaden and cold in his gut, Duckula crosses his arms again. In a blink of lightning and thunder he’s standing beneath Violet’s favorite shady tree in the park nearest their home. It’s deserted, and he’s starting to feel a little out of breath. 

Blink. The docks. Full of gobsmacked fisherpeople but no Violet. Duckula’s vision begins to blur. 

Blink. The Duckburg Public Library. He nearly falls flat on his face this time, barely catching himself on the edge of a table. 

“If you pass out on the carpet I’m leaving you there,” says Quackfaster without turning around as she reorganizes several collapsed bookcases. 

“I’m looking for my daughter,” Duckula says in a rush. “Violet, she comes in here all the time—”

“That strange little girl in particular has not been in today,” Quackfaster replies briskly. 

With a frustrated growl, he summons the thunder cloud and teleports again. A blink and a cacophonous crash of thunder and he finds himself sprawled on the beach, wet sand sticking to his face, hair and clothes as his stomach turns over and he fights the urge to vomit and faint all at once. It’s been years since he last teleported; if he tries again, he can’t guarantee arriving conscious. 

“Dad?”

Duckula raises his head at once at the sound of Violet’s voice, confused and trembling. 

This corner of the beach is always empty, and has been the site of many a Sabrewing family picnic. The sky, formerly crimson, is dark and starlit now and across the water the gold in the decimated Money Bin gleams in the moonlight. Curled up on the sand with her arms wrapped around her knees is Violet, her eyes wide and face pale beneath her feathers. 

Relief floods Duckula, leaving him practically boneless. “Vi,” he breathes, forcing himself to his feet. He doesn’t even have to take a step before Violet is standing and taking a running start. She slams into his middle with enough force to send him stumbling back a few steps, though he fortunately avoids falling over again. 

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, kneeling down to hug her properly. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Violet leans back, though she keeps a firm grip on Duckula’s sleeves. “It was the strangest thing I’ve ever experienced,” she exclaims, “it was magic, real magic! My shadow, _everyone’s_ shadow I believe, came to life and one even tried attacking me and—Dad, you just appeared out of thin air.” Violet stops, blinking. “How...did you do that? / is that possible?”

He tugs her back into his arms with a tired laugh, still too relieved to worry about the state of his greatest secret. “Yeah,” he says, “that’s a thing I can do.”

Violet hugs him back just as tightly. “How?” she breathes. He can picture her expression of wonder with perfect clarity. 

“Well I’ve got a little bit of magic, too,” Duckula admits. He’s the one to pull away this time. “I told you that I came from Transylvania, but I...well, I might’ve left a few things out.” 

“Such as the fact that you have magic,” Violet says with an artfully raised eyebrow. 

Duckula chuckles. “Such as that, yes.” He fishes his phone out of his pocket. “But first, how about we give your Papa a call so he can come pick us up, and we can explain everything to you together?”

“Can’t we just teleport home?” Violet asks eagerly. “Like you just did?”

“Oh gosh no,” he replies, laughing as he rests a gentle hand on her head. “You, little missy, had us so worried that I’ve been zipping all over the city looking for you. I’m all teleported out.”

Violet just looks more excited. “You’re saying that your abilities have physical limitations? Are they on account of range or repeated use?”

“Oh boy,” he says, looking heavenward. “I can already tell this is gonna be a long night.”

He doesn’t see Violet slip something purple and glowing into her pocket. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
